Thinking Yogi

The intersection of two loves: yoga and writing.

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Lately, when a certain someone pokes my shoulder at 7:01 or 6:23 or 5:45 (it’s a fun little game we like to play at my house – when will the 5 year-old get us up today?), one word pops into my head: Relentless.

 

Before you start playing the world’s tiniest violin for me and my inconsequential complaints, I’ll go on record to say that I realize I’m beyond lucky. I don’t currently have to worry about health, jobs, food, or shelter. Because of the many privileges I carry I’m not subjected to the inequities that so many individuals face. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude. Endlessly.

 

And yet, also….oh my goodness. As I look ahead to an uncertain summer and fall and get a whiff of that special soup of tween/teen moods with some 5 year-old tantrums and stagnant afternoon heat sprinkled in, the pout comes right back. Pretending it's not there isn't going to make me stop feeling it, I'll just feel more ashamed and keep shoving it down as resentment grows.

 

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Though eventually this virus will relent and over time our lives will go back to some semblance of normalcy, in the day-to-day it's hard to trust that. Some days it wears me down, especially when my reserves are low, I’ve had poor sleep the night before, the weather isn’t cooperating, and neither are my children. It's mysterious how one day I can feel optimistic and grateful and ready for anything, and the next I can barely make it until after lunchtime when I "let" my daughter watch her daily marathon of babysitting tv so I can get some work done, or time alone without being needed.

 

Here's the thing: no matter how hard or easy this time is for you, it might also feel relentless. Moreso than anything we've collectively experienced before. Whether you’re struggling to keep your sanity while simultaneously managing a very full household, or you’re feeling lost without your normal social and work structures, schedules, and friend time – this is hard.

 

What can we do?

 

We have to be more relentless.

 

We have to dig our heels in on the things that keep us healthy and safe and sane. Don’t let yourself be worn down when it comes to your personal blend of corona self-care. For me, that means spending time outside every single day, strengthening my body and getting my heart rate up at least a few times a week, making space for quiet practices of reconnecting (yoga, breath, meditation, rest) whenever I can, and carving out both uninterrupted work time and family time where I can fully listen and look into the eyes of my dear husband and kids to share a story or a laugh. It means checking on those I love and showing gratitude in small ways to those essential heroes at the grocery store, in delivery vehicles, hospitals, everyone who is brave enough to work in service of others right now.

 

If you’re feeling the weariness, you’re not alone. It’s okay to be tired from the relentlessness. Just don’t give up.

 

Get up, breathe deeply, and keep showing up for yourself and those you love. 

 

We will get through this.

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b2ap3_thumbnail_MeditationforEverydayLiving.jpgThe first time I tried meditating, I was 20 years old and pretty impressed with myself. I was a relatively new but 100% committed yoga student, and my teachers had made it clear that meditation was something I should do if I was serious about this yoga business. I solemnly rolled out my yoga mat in a tiny corner of my tiny New York City apartment, lit a candle, and sat there with closed eyes trying to figure out if I was doing it “right.” 

After a few minutes of being berated by my inner critic for not being able to stop thinking about that night’s dinner menu or the conversation I’d just finished with my mom, I blew out the candle and convinced myself that maybe I just wasn’t ready.

For my next attempt, I attended a group meditation at my local yoga studio, a musty 2nd floor walk-up with a fireplace and om signs everywhere. We were given a brief overview of what meditation was (“a vehicle for enlightenment”), then we were instructed to find a meditation posture (lotus was best, we were told) and stay completely still for 30 minutes. 

Ready, go! 

About 15 minutes in my legs were tingling, and within 20 minutes I was in excruciating pain. It felt like someone was stabbing the soles of my feet. I snuck a few peeks around the room to see if anyone else felt like they were dying, but they all seemed perfectly serene, so I sucked it up and just tried to shift position a little to make it tolerable. By the time the teacher rang the bells to signal we were finished, I could barely move my legs and decided that meditation, unlike the serenity my teachers described, was scary and painful.

I’ll admit it. With meditation, there’s really no such thing as being better at it than someone else. But this week when I was teaching yoga to my daughter’s 1st grade class in the gorgeous prairie garden outside her school, it occurred to me that kids get mindfulness in a way that I’m only now discovering 20 years into my yoga practice.

I arrived at the school garden ready to teach a boisterous animal-themed yoga practice that was all about moving quickly, making fun and silly sounds, and playing games. But as I was talking to the 1st graders before class about what yoga is and why it’s helpful, the first benefit they listed was relaxation. Not the response I’m used to when talking with people about yoga; usually the focus is on the flexibility bit, aka bending into a pretzel.

“Have any of you done yoga before?” I asked. All but two kids raised their hands. (Yoga’s come a long way in the last 20 years; when I first got into it my family worried I had joined a cult.)

As I told the kids my plan for our time together – breathing exercises, poses, then games – one boy interrupted me. “Can we meditate? I love meditating!”

Another boy chimed in, “I’m awesome at meditation,” and he sat up super tall, closed his eyes, and struck jnana mudrab2ap3_thumbnail_LittleMeditators.JPG (it looks like the OK sign). Several other kids joined him.

I couldn’t contain my smile. It blew my mind that the kids knew what meditation was and that it was now considered a cool thing. So I scrapped the games and said, “After we do some breathing and poses, we can sit on the logs and meditate,” like I was promising dessert if they ate a good dinner.

Throughout the breathwork and poses, they were focused little yogis who had lots of commentary to share: 

“This is easy!”

“I do yoga in my living room.”

“I’ve balanced on one leg for four minutes before.”

When it came time for dessert, I asked everyone to find a spot on the logs and pick a comfy position. Some sat cross legged, some didn’t. Most hadn’t tried meditation before, but they all followed my cues to sit up tall and close their eyes. As I guided them through a very simple “Special Place” meditation, they were quiet and still and attentive.

I’d bet that none of these kids, even the awesome meditators in the group, has ever been taught an official meditation technique or forced themselves to hold a painful position in the hopes of reaching enlightenment, but instinctively they get it. After a couple minutes, I gently brought them out, and we checked in about how they felt.

Their responses: relaxed, calm, in a special place, sleepy.

Some might argue that 2 minutes is nothing and that these eager 1st graders weren’t really meditating. I used to be one of those stalwarts who insisted that if I hadn’t read the technique in a book, it wasn’t valid.

I just don’t buy it anymore.

I think that any mindfulness practice, however long, is beneficial and beautiful and worthy of the big M word. Today’s little yogis are at a huge advantage having had exposure to even small bites of yoga and meditation by the age of 7. And I think all of us can learn from these wise little teachers. 

When you love something, when it’s really important to you, set it free from your own expectations. Don’t wait – just like you don’t need to get fit or flexible before starting yoga, you don’t necessarily need to wait for a peaceful, candlelit room to try meditation. 

Just start small. 

And then, be awesome at it.

 

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I’m no yoga renegade. Sure, when I began my practice 16 years ago I was all about deep backbends, elaborate bound twists, and fancy inversions. But as I’ve mellowed with age, and experienced a few too many tweaks on the mat, I now spend considerably more time on breathwork, meditation, and relaxation. And my asana practice more closely resembles what I teach to Level 1 students than any of the pretzel-shaped, gravity-defying poses most people associate with yoga.

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So when I read William Broad’s recent New York Times article, “How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body,” in which he regales readers with tales of the many ways yoga can just about kill you, I was initially frustrated at the sensationalized title and tone of his article. But as I sat with my reaction over the past week (thank you, yoga!), I realized this was also an opportunity to address the very real risks of injury in a certain approach to yoga practice.


It also made me think now would be the perfect time to pitch NYT a story called “How Food Can Make You Fat” about how everyone should put down their forks for good because a bunch of people have had heart attacks due to a diet of exclusively fast food. Just as “food” can mean anything from a piece of fruit to a bucket of fried chicken, “yoga” means many things to many people. The approach alone determines whether yoga will be a positive, healthy force in your life, or a source of pain and injury.

In his article, Broad cites a handful of horror story cases over the past thirty years in which people spent years performing intermediate yoga asanas in an often rigid and overexerted way and then suffered serious injuries. He uses as an example the story of a man who kneeled in vajrasana (a pose that would normally be held for no more than a few minutes) for an hour every day for a year and then had problems with his knees. Gasp! You mean if you go overboard and ask too much of your body, it will punish you?

As with any form of activity, the ultimate responsibility lies with the individual practitioner. Dedicated practitioners who are on the mat daily could benefit from a reminder to soften their approach a bit so as not to become overzealous. But my guess is that most yoga injuries occur in a different sort of practitioner. Consider the traditional “weekend warrior” syndrome: a person who spends 40 hours a week sitting at a desk then launches into a full-out sprint at the Sunday flag football game is likely to end up at the doctor’s office. Similarly, a “weekend virabhadrasana” who tries to push up into a full backbend in a vigorous Saturday morning vinyasa class is likely to end up paying a visit to the chiropractor.

The problem is not yoga. The problem is us and our egos and our overdone everything.

The first principle of yogic philosophy is ahimsa, non-harming. In order to truly practice yoga, we must not harm ourselves or others. Anything else we do on the mat is just “no pain, no gain” exercise that happens to use yoga poses as a vehicle.

I see it all the time in class: students who are accustomed to the traditional exercise mindset of “more is better” push themselves to get into the shape of the pose at all costs regardless of the hurt it causes the body. When the ego leads the way on the mat, inevitably the focus falls on the pose itself rather than why you originally set out to practice it. As soon as I remind students that asanas are useful but not the end goal, when I suggest that they check in with their breathing and keep a sense of humor about themselves, they tend to pull back.

My job as a yoga teacher is to demonstrate an approach that moves beyond the ego; I must not be afraid to say ‘I don’t know, but I can find out’ if a student asks about a specific injury or condition I’m unfamiliar with, I must encourage them to ask questions and listen to their bodies in each pose rather than blindly following my instructions for the group, and I must not be afraid to slow students down when appropriate even if they clearly want to have their butts kicked in class.

As yoga teachers, we have a duty to educate students about the difference between a stretch and a strain, between work and pain. We have the opportunity and obligation to help students understand both the benefits and risks of the practice, and to show them how to modify (or opt out of) anything that doesn’t feel right for their body. This awareness is invaluable because it can help students make better choices for their health on a day-to-day basis. This is the real yoga, the decidedly unsexy yoga of showing up, being present, and doing what’s right without the help of the latest yoga gadgets, expensive clothing, or props.

The second principle of yogic philosophy is satya, truth. And the truth is that like any other thing you do in an overexerted or excessive way (including walking, running, swimming, or even sitting on the couch), yoga can cause injury when approached from a place of ego and striving. In our culture of blame, liability, and reducing risk, it may be easier to claim that yoga is dangerous and should be given up lest all yogis end up having surgery or brain damage, but the truth is more subtle than that.

I wholeheartedly agree with the quote from yoga instructor Glenn Black who said, “Asana is not a panacea or a cure-all. In fact, if you do it with ego or obsession, you’ll end up causing problems.” How you get from that statement to saying people should quit yoga is beyond me. Yoga can be extremely beneficial to people of a variety of levels of fitness and experience when practiced thoughtfully and appropriately for each individual. When the focus is exclusively on asana, the body’s messages of pain or discomfort are overridden, or poses are performed forcefully without proper props or modifications, that is not yoga.

The word “yoga” means many things to many people these days and as William Broad pointed out, a too-vigorous approach to the practice can be damaging and harmful to practitioners. But to simply dismiss the entire tradition based on those concerns is hasty. Yoga is more than just sweating, pushing, and stretching. It’s an exploration of the interplay between body, mind, and breath, a way to systematically peel back the layers of thoughts and ego to find a deeper sense of connection. When the physical practice is approached with an eye to the broader tradition of self-inquiry, pranayama, meditation, and rest, yoga can be a deeply nourishing and healthy practice. With the principles of non-harming and truth at the forefront, yoga practitioners can use this rich practice to get beyond the ego and closer to the true self. And though it can hurt to let go of ego, it’s thankfully not the kind of hurt that lasts (or that wrecks you).

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